But Nobody Wants to Do It
by Zydrate
Summary: Set about ten years before the events of The Genetic Opera. Nathan was widely considered GeneCo’s best, but he wasn’t their only.
1. Tick, Tick

It's eight am.

He knew this because that's what the clock said as it ticked loudly away, not a foot away from his face. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. It was an old model, one that wasn't hooked up to the atomic station in LA, one with arms from the hours, minutes and seconds. Many of the new Genterns complained about it, how it was hard to read and the usual holo-watches were just fine and always accurate unlike the ancient model on the wall, but he liked it. It had character, with its clear plastic cover protecting the internal components, and simple black painted wood making up the sturdier, protective shell. And, well, if they couldn't take five seconds away from seducing patients to learn how to read an old clock, to hell with them.

"_Doctor, you have a heart replacement at eight ten." She had told him this when he had arrived at seven that morning, with coffee in one hand and dark bags under his cloudy grey eyes. He was exhausted, and hadn't even indicated he had heard the order, brushing by the attractive young Gentern without so much as a second glance._

You see one, you've seen them all. Only a bit short than him with their heels on, short, short dresses that leave so little to the imagination. Typically blonde with blue eyes, though he highly doubts they're natural; probably as natural as their perky breasts. Too much make-up for productive nurses, pursed lips and soft hands. All the same.

_This one was persistent, following after him as he walked and took a sip of his drink, the hot liquid doing wonders to burn his esophagus. "I've given the patient the typical run down, and blood tests confirmed they're not allergic to Zydrate."_

It always amazed him how they could do this to him. Every surgery, he walked in knowing so little about the patient personally. He didn't even know their genders, their names: All he knew is what he was giving them, or taking away, or modifying, and whether or not they were allergic to zydrate.

He hated it.

His imagination always wandered before the surgery. He wondered who he would be seeing under the knife again. Would it be a young woman, seeking to enhance her exterior with some frivolous nips and tucks? Or a scruffy but kind looking old man, the one who had crinkles around his eyes when he smiled at his Genterns, thanking the surGEN for saving his life and giving him a new kidney. Or, a young child, scared to be having her first surgery, holding a brown teddy bear to her small chest while she looks at them all with big brown eyes, lip quivering as she tries her hardest to look brave. It never matters though; All that matters is what they look like under the knife.

"_This one is an emergency replacement. Heart Failure, though localized to only the heart; We're sure it isn't NOS, we gave the test with the blood test."_

He wonders if and when he'll see them under a knife again.

"_Did you get all that--?"_

"_Yes. I got it," He replied shortly, waving her off with a dismissive wave of one hand. He turns to watch her walk away, slowly taking another sip and wincing slightly. Still hot, still burning._

Surgery was so… peaceful. With the patient semi-conscious, eyes closed and still as the Zydrate takes its effect, body relaxed. Sometimes he can hear words beings spoken, or soft music being played from the virtual reality library every patient is plugged into that makes surgeries more bearable. He never pays any attention to it, giving short orders to the Genterns to hand him specific tools as he opens the patient up and gets to work, the white from his lab coat and the white of his gloves contrasting sharply with the red in the body.

"_Doctor! How are you this morning?" A loud, male voice from a fellow surGEN. He sighs silently, flicking his eyes toward the ceiling as if to question his deity why he had to deal with people so early in the morning, and why he couldn't finish his damn coffee in peace and silence. With a false smile on his face, he turns to face the other man._

"_Oh, hello Roger, how are you?"_

"_Fine, fine! Just got out of a surgery, lovely patient that needed a full body replacement. I'll say, we had it done and the old girl into recovery in less than two hours, can you believe that?"_

_No, he can't, and he knows it's a lie._

It was never peaceful the second time around. This time, there's no zydrate to numb the pain, no Genterns to prep the patient. Only him and his knife, running through some back alley, slamming someone into a wall or the ground and quickly knocking the back of their head or slitting their throat with his knife if the surgery allows for it. This time, there is no soft music or quiet words, only screams and honks, yells and cries. This time, there is no white to compare to blood. Black and red go so well together.

"_Really, now?" He asks, fake smile beginning to hurt his cheeks._

This time, he imagines his soon-to-be heart transplant receiver. He imagines a woman, with black hair that flows down her back and brown eyes, natural brown that synthetic colors can never quite match, not that many people care to make their eyes brown. He imagines tan skin, not quite soft, but weathered and real, so real that it makes him pause. He imagines the smile on her face as she sees him, thanking him in a light alto voice for performing the operation, and singing GeneCo's praises as she chatters eagerly about her plan to pay for her new heart, and how she'll pick up another job if she had to in order to make ends meet.

_The two chat for what feels like hours. Roger goes on and on about his surgeries from the night before-- This man never stopped talking at work-- Before wishing the SurGEN a happy morning and soon leaving. Roger works the night shift, and gets to go home at seven thirty; he, on the other hand, works the day shift. He can't afford to work at night._

He imagines her five months later. Same brown hair, same weathered skin, this time pale. This time, her brown eyes are wide with fear, and she isn't singing praises. She's screaming, and he has to quiet her down, lest she draw attention to him. With a flick of his wrist, his knife carves a smile into her neck as she falls silent, brown eyes focusing on him as a hand goes to her neck, her fingers coming away sticky with blood. He stands there, patiently waiting for her to collapse.

"_It's seven forty five, doctor." It's that same Gentern again. (Or is it a different one?) She smiles, insincere sweetness as she pokes her head into his office. He hums in the back of his throat, not bothering to look up and acknowledge her. He never does, they all know he can hear them just fine, and would be there soon to start getting ready for the surgery._

He crouches over her body, ripping open her blue blouse with one hand while the other, with the knife, touches the skin between her breasts, coyly curving a line down the middle with one finger as he mentally marks her up. Soon, the knife traces down that line and he carefully splits her open, one hand working to hold the skin out of the way while the other cuts it to shreds.

He becomes aware that her brown eyes never leave his, and he imagines she can see him through his goggles. Part of his mind dismisses this, but the other mind persists, begging him to look at her and… Do what?

Do nothing. Keep working.

_At seven fifty, he turns his computer off and shrugs on a coat. It's such a light coat, in color and weight, that he has to pause and marvel at it. He isn't used to it, it occurs to him, and he chuckles once or twice, shaking his head and leaving his office, heading for the surgery rooms and the sinks._

The heart is free. He pulls it out, admiring it shortly before stuffing it into his refrigerated container, specifically marked to carry this heart, with all of it's measurements and other such information scribbled on it's side. He doesn't read any of it-- it's not for him, anyway-- Simply closes it before wiping his bloody knife on the dead woman's blouse.

_He reaches the sink, turns it on and focuses on the clock in front of his face. It's eight am._

It's eight pm.

She's still looking at him. He can't meet her eyes.

"_Doctor?"_

Instead, he calls for the cleanup crew.

"_Doctor?"_

They'll deal with the body. They'll look in her eyes and feel nothing. They won't remember her.

But he will.

"_Doctor Adam!"_

Aloysius's head snaps up as he is rudely jerked into the present by that… Or, one of the Genterns. She is staring at him, one eyebrow raised, (Fake.) lips pulled into a small frown. (Fake.) "Yes?" He asks patiently, plastering a charmed smile on his face. (Fake.)

"You've been washing your hands for ten minutes…" She says slowly, a note of concern audible in her voice. (Fake?)

He nods slowly. "Ah, yes, well… Cleanliness. You know, have to be sterile."

"Ten minutes?"

"Very sterile." With another smile, Dr. Aloysius Adam shakes out his hands, rolling his neck once to get out a kink that had developed while he was standing there. "Now, then, shall we get to work?"

"Of course doctor, right this way…"

He doesn't voice the real reason, that he was cleaning the heart transplant receiver's blood from his hands. She wouldn't understand, anyway.

It's eight oh five am.


	2. Youthful Optimism

He believes that it all began four years ago.

At twenty six years old, Aloysius Adam was a fresh graduate from one of the many fine medical schools in Los Angeles, and like all his fellow graduates he was seeking an internship at GeneCo. Sure, there were still a few other companies that employed doctors and surgeons, but everyone knew GeneCo was the only way to go, and to settle for anything less would be a waste of eight years of school. Still, getting an internship with the company was not an easy task; Competition was fierce, especially in such a day in age in which there was an overabundance of those in the medical field. (After the NOS Breakout, the general population experienced a paradigm-shift towards greater knowledge in medicine, as well as a certain obsession with the ability to change one's body, not to mention the move away from religion.) Still, Aloysius was optimistic in the way only a desperate college grad could be, and was thus preparing for his interview he had scheduled at the local Operation Center.

He had prepared for everything, or so he believed. After putting on his best suit, meticulously styling his brown hair, and brushing his teeth at least three times, the doctor-to-be had felt pretty good about his interview, and strolled into the Operation Center with a vibe of confidence that, in his mind, caught the attention of the other applicants. He had carefully sat down to wait, checking his holo-watch to make sure he had turned his phone off before settling in to wait. As he sat, Aloysius turned his attention to the Operation Center itself, taking in the sights and sounds. True, he had been in these centers before, but this one seemed… Special. Like it was meant for him, and was just waiting for the official word to reach out and accept it as a part of itself.

Or, perhaps he was just getting carried away staring at the Genterns.

About twenty minutes later, Aloysius's name was called by a woman in a white lab coat: Not a Gentern, it appeared, but still young and attractive, which seemed to be the norm for women that worked for GeneCo. She had smiled at him when he had stood up, apparently not noticing how nervous and exited he was as she took his papers and lead him down a hallway with doors on both sides, each door having a small window that allowed anyone to look on to see what was taking place in those rooms. Aloysius took his chance as he dutifully followed her, glancing around and catching glimpses of surgeries taking place, of patients being prepped, and of SurGENs working so easily, just like they were portrayed in the media.

What excitement! What efficiency! What excellence! Surely, he was cut out for this.

Finally, the two reached a door where the woman stopped and knocked. From inside, a male voice answered with a low "Come in," soon followed by a soft click as the electronic lock on the door was disengaged. The woman opened the door, leading Aloysius into a typical office, with a middle aged man seated behind a wooden desk and two chairs before the desk. Several posters decorated the walls behind him, as well as a cork board with various notes tacked to it, situated beside three monitors that played silent versions of popular GeneCo commercials advertising their various new programs, including the fantastic new "Replace Your Face" Program.

While Aloysius had been captured by the monitors, the woman had handed his application over to the man before leaving, closing the door behind him. Another click of the door brought the young man back to his senses as he turned, glancing at the door with a hint of unease before turning his attention to the man, who was smiling at him. "Please, sit down," he instructed, picking up Aloysius's paper as the man sat. "I'm Dr. Marvin," He introduced himself shortly. Aloysius had already guessed as much, having red the man's nametag that was so neatly sewed to his jacket.

"Let us see here…" Dr. Marvin began, leaning back in his chair as he studied the paper. He was silent for a few moments while he read, leaving Aloysius with nothing but the sound of an old model clock ticking on the wall. "You started school in New York?"

Aloysius had paused for a moment, unsure if he was supposed to answer or not. The older man lowered the paper a few inches, quizzically raising an eyebrow and gesturing with his free hand for the other to speak. "Oh! Um, yes. I studied biology in an undergraduate school for three years in New York because… Well, it was cheaper. I finished my last year of undergraduate and went to medical school here in LA, however," He answered.

"Of course," Dr. Marvin said with a nod, taking another look at the paper. Aloysius found himself watching the man closely, studying his every facial expression, every movement of his hands, searching for any sign of what the man might be thinking as he read the application. The answer came in the form of a small frown, which caused him to panic slightly. "You failed Biochemistry in your second year."

Ah, that. "Oh, yes. My father died that year, and I was absent the week before for his funeral, and failed the final, because, well…" He let the sentence hang, remembering the event and the chaos that had surrounded the death.

"Of course, I'm sorry," Dr. Marvin said sympathetically, nodding his head slightly. "And I see you made it up. Very good. Now then," He set down the paper, sitting forward in his chair and studying the younger man across the desk. "Why do you want to work for GeneCo?"

Aloysius's answer was immediate. "GeneCo is the leader of the world in surgery. I want to work for the best, and no one else even comes close in comparison."

Dr. Marvin couldn't help but crack a smile, shaking his head. "Alright, I'll take that as your official response, but really: Why do you want to work for us? No practiced statements, please."

The young man faltered slightly, blinking rapidly. Had he really sounded like he had rehearsed that statement? He had, true, but still… "Um. I… I heard the pay is great, plus you get the most business, so I'll always be working and helping people…"

The older man clapped once. "Wonderful. See, the truth is easy! Now, now, don't look all flustered, a lot of people practice that answer. Okay, moving right along: Why medicine?"

Aloysius tilted his head, raising a brow. "I'm sorry?"

"Why medicine, why do you want to become a SurGEN?"

"Ah, well… My father was a physician, so I grew up with medicine always present. He was a great man, and kind of inspired me, I guess. I originally wanted to become a physician like him, but after he died of cancer, I thought I might do everyone more good as a surgeon."

Dr. Marvin studied Aloysius for a moment longer, making the younger man feel rather uncomfortable. He wondered once again what the doctor was thinking, and what he was looking for: Was he finding it? Was he silently criticizing him? Picking out his flaws and planning how he was going to tear him down? What? What?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to Aloysius though in truth was only a few seconds, the older man set his application down and stood up. "Yes, well. GeneCo only accepts the best."

He could hear something in him shatter. Really? Was that it? A few questions and he already had made up his mind? Aloysius mentally swore before standing up, swallowing hard and finding his voice. "Yes, of course, I understand…"

Dr. Marvin raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you do? Alright, then. Well, head on over to the recruitment center tomorrow, and they'll talk to you more about where you'll work in the company, as well as our different programs for SurGENs and--"

"I'm sorry?"

"You're hired, of course," Dr. Marvin said with a smile, extending a hand across the desk. "Welcome to GeneCo, Dr. Adam."

Aloysius blinked several times, his mind reeling as it tried to understand what the doctor had just said, his emotions somewhere in-between completely elated and ecstatic. "Th-Thank you!" He choked out suddenly, managing to keep his voice at least somewhat calm as he grabbed the other man's hand, giving it a hearty shake. Dr Marvin laughed good naturedly, taking the application and stamping something on it before handing it back to Aloysius.

"Now, when you get to the recruitment center, all of your information will be put in the computers and you'll officially be hired. But you got the job; I'll drop them a line as soon as you leave. I'm sure you're going to be an excellent addition to the company, doctor."

"Thank you!" With that, Aloysius backed out of the office, failing to notice the door was still shut.

-----

Though somewhat embarrassed now, the new surGEN was too excited to care that he had just run straight into a closed door. Walking through the hallways and out of the Operations Center, he fancied he could hear the other applicants envy of him as he beamed, half of him wanting to shout and jump for joy while the other half had its work cut out for it controlled himself.

Finally! Finally. After all those years in school, all those long hours pouring over books, memorizing names and numbers, symptoms and diseases, hours of dealing with an aching back as he had bent so carefully over bodies and microscopes… Finally, things were turning out for him.

He worked for the best company in the world. His future was secured. Surely, things could only get better from there.


End file.
